


What should have happened

by DebbyBacellar



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Kiss, Hurt/Comfort, John punches Sherlock, Love Confessions, M/M, One Shot, season 4, smith morgue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-01
Updated: 2017-02-01
Packaged: 2018-09-21 10:41:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9544439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DebbyBacellar/pseuds/DebbyBacellar
Summary: What should have happened when John hurts Sherlock at Smith's morgue.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not a native speaker. My native language is very different from English (Brazilian Portuguese) but I tried hard not to make a big mess. I sincerely hope you like it!  
> Kisses and hugs!

What should have happened.

By Debby Bacellar

 

They are alone in the morgue now. John disarms Sherlock, the scalpel falling on the floor of the room with an innocent _cling_.

It's like liquid hate filling all of John's veins and arteries. It's so wrong. It is so fucking damnable that he has no words to begin to describe the repulsion he feels for himself.

This hatred is displaced, it is self-loathing and mourning. It's all of evil that he can’t hold back anymore.

He knew that one day it would happen, that all the things he suppressed would find their own way out to the surface in the cruelest way. And that's exactly what happens.

Sherlock is there, junkie, hallucinating, (questionable), talking inanities, self-destructing himself and John cannot, he cannot handle it now. All the feelings vibrated inside him, running through his body like a wave of anger that lodged in his fists.

He then does the unthinkable. The unforgivable.

He punches him. He really hurts him.  Again, again and again.

He feels when Sherlock tries to get away from him, but he cannot stop. He cannot. Sherlock fell to the floor without ever fight back, his face bleeding, his eyes burning with tears and a sense of confusion stamped on his unprotected expression, and as if it could not get worse, Sherlock justifies the unjustifiable. Sherlock attributes all the guilt of John's monstrosity to himself, exempting him from the attack that never, never should never have happened

Shame runs massively through all of John's body.

His best friend is there, fallen, crying, drugged, bleeding... And all John can think of is that is his own fault. That’s because he not supporting Sherlock. That's because the horrendous letter, full of pain and cruel words written while he was drunk with whiskey. That's because he never thanking every time Sherlock has saved him, in so many different ways. That's for distrusting in the immensity of Sherlock's feelings for him, for being a coward time after time, denying, discording, looking away as if he could not see what undeniably were acts of deep love and true altruism.

Mary shot in Sherlock.

Mary chose to leave him and abandon her own daughter in the process to protect herself.

Mary was a killer.

A piece of him loves her (yet). A piece of him would always love her.

...

But most of him, the unconfessable part, the part he never wanted to hear, knows that he loves the person he has just hurt so much, much more.

"I'm sorry ... I'm sorry ... Sherlock, I'm so sorry..." John no realizes when the first words swollen with tears come out of his mouth, he does not really notice having lowered himself on his knees. Sherlock is so close now, tears pouring from his exotic eyes.

John takes him in his arms, nestling him carefully at the crook of his neck, his fingers caressing Sherlock's curly, careless hair.

"I cannot lose you... Please Sherlock, I cannot lose you."

The dam of all that he suppressed one day was overthrown, despite his will, everything he has secretly hidden comes to the fore, his most preserved secrets, his most neglected feelings. He could no longer hide and deny his heart's innermost will.

Sherlock sniffs at his neck, a being so stoic and simultaneously so fragile, a mosaic of emotions that John has had the pleasure of knowing (and secretly loving) over the years.

He's so beautiful, John thinks, both inside and out.

And John knows, God he knows, in the moment Sherlock's arms surround his body in a desperate embrace, that Sherlock belongs to him. Sherlock always belonged John.and always will.

"I love you. I always loved you". John whispers in Sherlock's ear, the curls tickling his nose.

Sherlock softens in his arms as if a weight of unspeakable value is pulled off from his shoulders.

"Forgive me, Sherlock... Please, Forgive me, my love..."

John begs.

"I love you, I love you John... I love you so much." Sherlock mumbles muffled on John's skin.

Sherlock moves away just a little so he can look into John's eyes. They both stare blankly, their eyes wet with tears, red noses, sweaty and blushing, Sherlock's blood painting a few spots on John's cheek. It is so imperfect, so surreal, but it is true, it is the moment that they decide that despite the fake deaths, screams, fights, arguments, real deaths and challenges that seem often insurmountable, they belong to each other. They already belonged from the first moment, from the first words exchanged, from the first look.

And now, with their eyes closed, their lips touch for the first time, initially chaste, taste of blood and love being exchanged when their tongues caress each other. John's hands go to Sherlock's face and touch his features of Michelangelo's David, feeling the shape of the bones of Sherlock's face with his fingertips, tracing along his eyebrows and cheekbones with such delicacy that he did not know that he possessed. Sherlock's hands grip the back of John's shirt, his fingers squeezing the cloth with desperation, looking for a way to land on the moment, to remain in that instant forever.

"You're mine, Sherlock and your life is not just yours to waste like this... I need you. I need you with me, from now onward. I will not give up of you anymore, never again, do you understand me?"

John speaks earnestly and Sherlock shudders at John's voice possessive tone. Oh yes, yes, Sherlock belongs to John and he sighs relieved for the first time in years.

"I'm your John, don’t doubt it neither for a second..." Sherlock takes John's hand and rests it on his heart. "Your..." he whispers.

John smiles, simple, and repeats the gesture with the opposite hand, placing Sherlock's hand on his own heart, mirroring the gesture. 

"Yours." he repeats. It's a vow. A promise. A statement.

_Together._

Together, it is how they will always be from this moment until the end of their lives, because if there is an unquestionable truth about love, it is this: true and undoubted love conquers all.

 

The End ...


End file.
